“What? You’ve never been in love?” Seb stopped talking, but his sympathetic frown continued the conversation.Oh you poor thing.
“I didn’t say I’d never been in love.” In junior high school, each week had brought a new crush, sometimes on a guy in class, sometimes an idol from one of Henri’s numerous rock magazines, once a substitute teacher. He took a deep breath and disclosed what would soon be public knowledge, and damn the consequences. “I’ve never been in love with a woman.”
Confusion, shock, disbelief, revulsion. No telling how Sebastian would react. He never batted an eyelash. “But you’ve still been in love. Draw from your own personal knowledge. Use the pleasure, the pain. In my experience, audiences crave strong emotion of any kind: love, triumph, sorrow, heartbreak. Make them feel what you’re feeling and they’ll eat from your hand.” Without another word Seb left the room, la-la-la-la-la-ing all the way.
Damn. That had gone well.
After dinner Henri called his new manager. “Is there a reporter you trust to tell the truth and not embellish?”
Lucas didn’t hesitate. “I know a few.”
“When I get back in town I want to tell my side of the story. The drugs, the band, the drugged drink. And Lucas?”
“Yes?”
“I’m giving you a heads-up. I plan on coming out.”
“To LA? But you’re not due back for three more weeks.”
Henri let silence answer for him.
“Oh. Tabloids got it right for once, did they?” Lucas’s laugh carried no derision.
Well, damn. The tabloids. How Henri hated proving those bastards right. “Do we have a problem?”
“No. But I have to ask you something on a personal note.” Lucas took on a businesslike tone.
“Go ahead.”
“Has something happened between you and Sebastian? You’re my client, but he’s the son of a dear friend, with his own career to worry about. If you hurt him, you’ll answer to me.” Fathers of sixteen-year-old daughters never sounded so fierce to defend virtue.
Did Lucas just out Sebastian?
* * *
“How’s itgoing?” Sebastian eased down onto the settee, facing the piano where Henri had spent a fruitless few hours.
“Not good.”
“Why not?”
“I heard what you said about emotions, but saying and doing is a lot different.” Most of Henri’s recent emotions conjured the same kind of angry, depressing songs Hookers and Cocainethrived on.
“What do you have so far?”
“Come here.” Henri patted the bench next to him and scooted over.
Sebastian sat. Before Lucas had dropped his bomb, Henri had no problem sitting close to Seb. Now, proximity added fuel to the fire of thoughts he shouldn’t be having about a man his manager would kill him for seducing. He didn’t usually go for intellectual guys, yet the warmth of Seb’s body summoned him closer. A hint of cologne teased his nose. Huh? He’d never noticed Seb wearing cologne before. Then again, quitting smoking might have contributed to there currently being more smells in the world. And never had Henri’s fingers been more awkward on a keyboard. Hands as graceful as hammers, he banged out the basic opening for his new version of “A Matter of When.” With a too thick tongue, he launched into the vocals.
“From the moment I saw you.”
“Nope. Not feeling it.” Sebastian placed his hands over Henri’s to still their frantic pounding.
“But I just started.”
“And already your audience is yawning. Grab their attention with the very first note. Now, the original song starts, ‘I’ve got a date with a bullet,’ right? All dreary and depressing.”
“Hey!” It’d been catchy enough to warrant Grammy attention.
